


#worlds2017

by Fourthlinewinger



Series: #worlds2017 [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Humor, M/M, slight 2017 capitals angst, the nicky/willy could be considered one sided, watching nicky kick ass at worlds with team sweden was the only good thing about post season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 01:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fourthlinewinger/pseuds/Fourthlinewinger
Summary: 90% of the time, Nicky is the smartest person on the ice. He still never saw this coming.It starts with a win in Germany.





	#worlds2017

Nicke was observant, and clever, and fucking capable of analyzing motive and understanding what people were about to do and why they were about to do it. He was smart; he’d been the smartest person in the room for years, and somehow this situation happened anyway and Nicke - Nicke had no idea what, or when, or how, just that he’d lost control at some point and he wasn’t sure he would be able to get it back.

It started with a win in Germany.

Wait, that was wrong. It started after Game 6 of the first round of the playoffs, skating down a line of young Toronto players all trying not to break down in the face of elimination. It started with an outstretched hand and words Nicke couldn’t remember. But going that far back was painful. It’d been 10 days and that wasn’t far enough, so Nicke would pretend it started in Germany.

(Maybe his selective recollection was the reason he never saw this coming.)

The middle was Germany: new lines, new teammates, Henke in net. It was an empty bed and quiet nights. It was different from Gävle or Washington, and that was the best thing about it. Nicke felt like he hadn’t taken a full breath in weeks. He could finally breathe.

He was scoring, they were winning, he was putting up points and succeeding. Before Nicke knew it was Saturday night. They’d defeated Finland for the chance to take the finals. He had a chance to turn this nuclear wasteland of a postseason into a storybook. There was a gold medal game in a day and a chance to steal the trophy from the Canadians. Nicke could taste the future.

William Nylander was a cocky, wide-eyed demon on his wing, and that was Sweden’s future. Nicke liked playing with him, liked setting him up, liked seeing what he could do with a centimeter of space and a pair of hands that didn’t know what impossible was. Playing with Willy reminded Nicke of the limitless potential in a hockey game. 

Willy soaked up his attention like a flower in the sun, and reflected such joy in hockey Nicke couldn’t help but leave the darkness of the season behind. Nicke had come to Worlds hoping to salvage the year. He hadn’t expected to smile so easily, to laugh so hard, to have so much fun. It was the parts of hockey Nicke loved and had missed: winning, a good team supporting each other, getting better every game, having a positive impact on the game, helping mentor the younger players like he was once mentored.

He went to dinner with the Nylanders one night. Nicke told Micke how much fun he was having with Willy, how Willy was an excellent player and linemate. Micke looked pleased the way parents did when their children were complimented, and Alex teased Willy so hard about how he blushed at the praise that Willy threw his dinner roll at him and they were almost tossed out of the restaurant. It was a good night.

The four of them walked back to the hotel they were staying at. Nicke dropped back, enjoying the night air and the walk after a good meal, and Willy kept pace.

“Do you really think that?” Willy blurted out, quiet enough that they wouldn’t be overheard, but with an unmistakable edge of nerves. “That I’m good?”

Nicke glanced at him. “What, you think I’d lie to your father?” He was amused by the thought. Nicke wouldn’t bother lying about Willy’s talent, and if Willy was bad, he wouldn’t even be in Germany. Anyway, after their playoff battle, Nicke had a hard time believing any Leaf had a doubt about how good their future looked.

“No, that’s - just. You like playing with me??” Willy looked at the ground, then up again to peer shyly at Nicke through his lashes.

Nicke’s lips struggled valiantly against a smile. “Well, if you want an honest assessment -” he broke and laughed at the sudden horror on Willy’s face. “You’re one of the best performing players in the tournament, why are you asking me what I think?”

Willy shrugged. “Maybe I want to impress you,” he said.

Nicke considered for a moment. “If you really want my advice, then let me tell you this: you can’t care so much about what me or other people are saying about you. Play your game, and don’t worry.”

Unbidden, Sasha came to mind, and Nicke did his best to banish him. He wasn’t thinking of Washington right now. He was guilty of being grateful Andre wasn’t on the team as a living, breathing reminder of failure. Thoughts of Sasha were worse than seeing Andre every day. 

Nicke turned back to Willy and smiled with an effort. “Maybe listen to your dad, too. But only sometimes.” His smile grew bigger, inviting Willy to share the joke. Willy smiled back brightly, and then darted in for a hug.

“Thanks,” Willy said.

Nicke, not a fan of people hanging on him at the best of times, gave it exactly three seconds before squirming free.

“Anytime,” Nicke replied, feeling something settle between them, connection or chemistry or something good. He couldn’t wait to get back on the ice. They were going to be great.

And they were great. Nicke scored more goals, set up Nylander again and again, and it was so, so good. Nicke was looking forward to the gold medal game the way he hadn’t looked forward to Game 7, which he would need to start thinking about soon. Not tonight, though. (Tomorrow, or the next day, or the next, whenever Sasha grew sick of his silence and tracked him down to force him to deal with the reality of their long summer.) Tonight was for Sweden, and tonight was for hope.

It was also for Willy, standing in the hallway, glowing pink and slightly breathless after he knocked on Nicke’s door. 

“Nicke!” Willy said, and reached out one hand to grip Nicke’s shoulder. “I needed to see you.” He smiled.

Oh, no. Nicke had raised far too many rookies - was still raising Burt, really, no matter he was an RFA and had been playing professionally for years - to be fooled by such a sweet smile. Nicke had Latts and Tom. He’d beaten Willy at ping pong far too often to be taken in. That was the look of a young player who wanted to make it a night to remember. It was maybe not the best idea to go out tonight, but tomorrow’s game was in the evening, and Willy was young enough to be able to go out and play and then go out and _play_. Nicke, as much as he was loathe to admit it, was not.

“The answer is no,” Nicke told Willy. “And when you inevitably ignore my advice, remember to use condoms.”

Willy went redder. “I-” he said, and cleared his throat. “Okay. I’m ignoring your advice. I think I have a condom in my wallet,” he muttered the last part, like Nicke wasn’t supposed to hear it and -

And Nicke really should have seen it coming when William Nylander moved his hand from Nicke’s shoulder to his jaw, leaned in, and pressed a firm kiss to his lips.

Nicke flailed a little and tried to stagger back. Willy put his other hand in Nicke’s hair and stroked his tongue invitingly along Nicke’s lower lip.

“боже мой,” someone said from the hallway, because they could see what was going on, because Nicke was _holding the door open while the little Nylander boy tried to stick his tongue down Nicke’s throat._

Nicke shoved Willy back. 

Willy blinked at him, one hand still cradling Nicke’s face. “Nicke?”

Nicke looked over Willy’s shoulder to see Kuzya, doubled over with laughter in the hall outside his door, and Orly, amused and failing to hide it.

“I get dibs,” Kuzya said between giggles. “Dima, I call dibs on telling Ovi.”

Nicke probably should have seen that coming, too.

**Author's Note:**

> No blonde Swedes were harmed in the making of this fic. Neither were any Russians, visiting on behalf of their convalescing captain with offerings of vodka.


End file.
